


G.I. Joe: American Heroes, Episode 2 "A Kingdom of Anarchy"

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: G.I. JOE: American Heroes [2]
Category: Airwolf, G.I. Joe - All Media Types, The A-Team - All Media Types, Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms
Genre: Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Espionage, Fanart, Gen, Gun Violence, Military, Mission Fic, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: As the A-team prepares to embark on its first mission for G.I. JOE, another JOE team is involved in a desperate fight for survival. Cobra Commander meets with the president of Costa Buena.





	G.I. Joe: American Heroes, Episode 2 "A Kingdom of Anarchy"

 

**Season 1/Episode 2**

 

_ **Previously, in G.I. JOE: American Heroes...** _

 

_General “Hawk” Abernathy, in an effort to add experienced agents to the ranks of G.I. JOE, recruited a newly exonerated A-Team. Scarlett and Snake Eyes were involved in a near deadly incident in Borovia involving Destro and Storm Shadow. U.S. Army pilot Stringfellow Hawke was captured by Cobra forces in the Caribbean nation of Costa Buena._

 

XXXXXX

 

 _The Pit_ , G.I. JOE's subterranean headquarters.

 

“My name is Captain Hauser, but you can call me Duke,” said the G.I. JOE field commander as he led the A-Team down a corridor. “You'll find that we do things differently here in G.I. JOE. Among other things, we primarily refer to each other by our code names. Like Delta and the SEALS, we have relaxed grooming and uniform standards so as to blend in with the locals when need be. We also get first crack at all of the latest toys that DARPA and our other engineers come up with.”

 

He led them into a briefing room. A tray piled with cheeseburgers and french fries sat in the middle of the table, along with glasses and pitchers of soda.

 

“I know you men must be hungry. The mess was about to close, but we put in a quick order for you. I hope burgers are all right.”

 

“Considering the slop that passed for grub at Leavenworth, these will be fine, Duke,” said Hannibal as he and his men helped themselves.

 

“Man! That's a good burger!” B.A. said as he plopped down into one of the office chairs.

 

“I don't suppose you'd have any sushi?” asked Face. “Maybe a nice California roll? No? Okay. Guess I can fudge a bit on my diet...”

 

Murdock propped his feet on the table and gulped soda from one of the pitchers. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his leather jacket.

 

“So where ya sendin' us, _El Capitan_? Please say Hawaii. Oh! Fiji?!”

 

“We're waiting for one more member of the team,” replied Duke.

 

“Another member?” asked Hannibal. “We work best when it's just us. No offense to whoever this other guy is, but...”

 

“Oh hell. It's the bloody A-Team.”

 

A woman with auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a black blazer over a white dress shirt and blue jeans appeared in the door way, an annoyed expression on her face.

 

“Gentlemen, this is Dr. Lara Croft of the British Secret Service,” Duke spoke up.

 

Face stood up, arms outstretched.

 

“Lara! Baby! It's been too long!”

 

Croft rounded the table and socked him in the jaw with a quick right cross.

 

She stepped past Face as he fell against the wall.

 

“ _That_ was for Brazil,” she sneered.

 

“Oh, we've crossed paths before,” said Hannibal. “Once or twice.”

 

“ **A Kingdom of Anarchy”**

 

“Wait. _British Secret Service_?” asked B.A., his mouth half full. “You mean you're a spy? I thought you were just a tomb raider.”

 

“I prefer _archaeologist_ , Mr. Baracus,” she asserted, taking a burger from the tray. “Which I am. I am also an agent of MI6, but you see, I try not to mention that part. If I talked about it, then I wouldn't be much of a _secret_ agent, now would I? I don't suppose you'd have any sushi, Captain Hauser?”

 

“Already asked,” said Face, massaging his chin as he eased back into his chair.

 

“Now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries,” Duke sighed. “Please open the dossiers before you.”

 

“Wow. If that ain't a hot tamale!” said Murdock, ogling the photograph of a sleek, black, futuristic looking helicopter that was clipped to the top of the report in his binder.

 

“That, Captain Murdock, is Project Airwolf,” said Duke. “A top secret, highly advanced stealth attack helicopter. It is capable of subsonic speeds as well as stratospheric flight. It is outfitted with the latest in armor and weaponry. Uncle Sam invested a lot of money in that bird. However, right now, as we speak...it's in the hands of Cobra.”

 

“Let me guess,” said Hannibal. “Somebody left the keys in the ignition?”

 

Duke ignored the remark.

 

“Last week, while undergoing final testing outside of Edwards Air Force Base, Airwolf opened fire on the technicians and ground crew, killing six and injuring a dozen more. Officially, it was reported as a terrible training accident. Unofficially, the bird was piloted by its designer, Dr. Charles Moffet who absconded with the aircraft. Last week, one of our spy satellites located Airwolf in Costa Buena, which apparently has been Cobra Central as of late.”

 

“Any idea why Costa Buena seems to have rolled out the welcome mat for these guys?” asked Face, leafing through his binder.

 

“Intelligence is working on that,” said Duke. “Two days ago, a CIA covert ops team landed in Costa Buena. Its mission was to locate Airwolf and either bring it home or destroy it. UAV feed showed that the team was overrun by a platoon of Cobra Jungle Vipers. All agents were killed, save for one man, Airwolf's original test pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Stringfellow Hawke. The last images from the feed were of the Vipers dragging him off through the jungle. At that point, it appears that our drone was shot down.”

 

“An American military officer being held hostage in a country that, to say the least, has a frigid relationship with Washington,” said Lara, not looking up from the file in her hands. “It appears this will take a bit more finesse than G.I. JOE usually manages.”

 

“That's why you'll all be working undercover,” Duke explained. “You'll be be sent in to Costa Buena under the guise of scouting locations and gathering research for a proposed documentary about the nation's indigenous people. Hannibal, you and your men will assume the identity of the film crew. Doctor, you of course, will be playing yourself.”

 

“You mean I don't even get a chance to audition for the part?” asked Murdock. “I can do a killer Lara Croft. Ask the boys.”

 

“It's true, he does,” replied Face. “He puts Nerf balls under his shirt, it's a whole thing.”

 

Lara rolled her eyes.

 

“Your primary objective,” Duke continued. “is to locate and extract Chief Warrant Officer Hawke. Your secondary objective is to locate and recover Airwolf. If you cannot recover Airwolf, then it must be destroyed. We can't afford to leave a weapon like that in Cobra's hands. Any questions?”

 

“Any intel on CWO Hawke's location?” asked Hannibal.

 

“Photograph 6 in your binders,” said Duke. “Satellite imagery shows a detail of Cobra troopers were stationed outside of the Presidential horse stables shortly after Hawke was captured. The stables have traditionally been known as El Presidente's favorite place to detain and torture political dissidents as well as anyone deemed an enemy of the state. This looks like our best bet. As far as Airwolf is concerned, the last image captured of it was at an airfield two clicks east of the Presidential compound.”

 

B.A. raised his hand as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

 

“How we gettin' there? Because between the C-130 that took us to Leavenworth and the hypersonic deal, my black ass is done flying anywhere for a good long while. I'm sure y'all must have a top secret, super fast boat or somethin' right?”

 

Duke smiled and nodded.

 

“I read about your aversion to flying in your file, Sergeant. I want you to meet with First Lieutenant Rich in Psy-Ops before you ship out. He can help you with that. Anyone else?”

 

“What kind of back up are we getting?” asked Face. “Is there a QRF to bail us out if things go sideways?”

 

“You'll be supported by my squad, Team 1,” replied Duke. “If need be, as a last resort, we'll have a quick reaction force of greenshirts standing by aboard our carrier, the _U.S.S. Flagg.”_

 

“Green shirts _?”_ Lara raised an eyebrow.

 

“Members of the 39th infantry and 552nd parachute regiment. G.I. JOE has its own dedicated infantry. We call 'em greenshirts. We like to keep our operations close to the vest, and it's easier this way. If that's it, get some rest, people. Wheels up at 0600.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Benzheen, North Africa.

 

The UN peacekeepers assigned to Benzheen had likened it to the wild west. The Blue Helmets weren't wrong. The once peaceful and prosperous oil-rich nation had devolved into a kingdom of anarchy following a civil war.

 

The United Nations had put a stop to the war, but the country was far from stable. Warring tribes, opportunistic criminals, and warlords dotted the landscape. It was this instability that had made Benzheen a prime target for Cobra, looking to bolster its ranks by enticing desperate and disenfranchised locals to join their cause.

 

The current mission of G.I. JOE Team-2 was to apprehend a high ranking Cobra leader who was reportedly holed up in an apartment building in a suburb of the capital city that he had been using as a de facto recruiting center. The team, traveling in three HumVees, were to ride into town, raid the apartment, take the target into custody and return to the UN peacekeeping base set up at an airfield on the edge of town.

 

The three vehicles sat idling outside of a soccer stadium, waiting for the word to launch the mission.

 

“Y'all hear we got the A-Team?” Gung-Ho asked in his Cajun drawl.

 

“Yeah, the MP's finally tracked 'em down in Montana or somewhere like that,” replied his fellow marine, Leatherneck, sitting beside him in the darkened HumVee.

 

“No, I mean, they're Joes now. General Hawk recruited 'em. Turns out they really were framed after all.”

 

“Dude, that's epic!” Rock 'N Roll replied from the rear of the vehicle. “I always liked those cats. Hated that they were on the wrong side of the law.”

 

It was a typically hot and humid night. The air was still, save for the buzzing of the insects which darted in and out of the vehicle's open windows.

 

Rock 'N Roll popped open a small can and guzzled the contents. Leatherneck glanced back over his shoulder at him.

 

“What is that?”

 

“Red Bull. You guys want one?”

 

“No,” the two marines in the front answered flatly.

 

“You sure? Gets ya amped up. Gets the blood flowing.”  
  
“My blood's flowin' just fine,” replied Gung-Ho, staring at his watch as he gripped the steering wheel.

 

“Where did you get that, anyway?” asked Leatherneck.

 

“Loaded up at the PX at Ramstein. I've got plenty.”

 

Leatherneck returned his attention to the city before them.

 

“You drink enough of that shit and you'll be vibrating. The last thing we need is a jittery gunner.”

 

“Naw, I'm cool as a cucumber, brah.”

 

Gung-Ho shook his head.

 

“Damn Californians.”

 

Sitting in the Hummer to their right were Flint, Dusty and Spirit. Flint scrolled through the tablet in his left hand.

 

“What do you know about this Zartan guy, Flint?” asked Dusty from behind the steering wheel.

 

“Real name unknown,” Flint set aside the tablet. “Nationality unknown. He's a master of disguise. It's like trying to catch a greased pig. He's been linked to terrorist activity in Europe, Asia and North America. He's been known to run with a motorcycle gang called the Dreadnoks, but by all accounts, they're all either dead or gone underground. Ghost Recon nearly had him last year in Mexico. Truthfully, I'd feel better if we had those guys or another JOE team backin' us up.”

 

“We were seconds away from catching him when he lobbed a grenade into a crowded marketplace,” said Spirit, sitting behind them. “He killed twelve people so he could escape.”

 

“You were a _Ghost_?” asked Dusty.

 

“I was,” the handsome Native-American replied. “before General Hawk himself recruited me for G.I. JOE. He tried to take Lieutenant Mitchell as well, but he refused to leave the Ghosts.”

 

“ _Bravo 2-1, this is Clubhouse,_ ” Breaker's voice crackled over their radios.

“ _Civilian informant has signaled that target is at the location, second floor. Over._ ”

 

“Bravo 2-1, copy,” Flint replied. “All units, green light. I say again, _green light_.”

 

“Aww yeah!” said Rock 'N Roll before crushing a _Red Bull_ can against his helmet and standing up so he could man the turret's M240 machine gun.

 

The first two HumVees rolled out of the stadium parking lot followed by the third, which carried Lt. Falcon, Shockwave, and Crazylegs.

 

The vehicles made their way off of the paved streets and wound their way over dirt roads and into a neighborhood comprised of two and three story cinder block apartment buildings, many bearing the scars of smoke and damage from mortar fire.

 

Gung-Ho stopped the first HumVee at the west end of the street, short of the intersection, blocking any traffic from entering. The third Hummer passed the second one and stopped before the building as Dusty parked diagonally behind it to block the east end of the small street.

 

Gung-Ho and Leatherneck emerged from their vehicle and stood guard, weapons raised, as did Flint and Dusty at the opposite end of the street.

 

Spirit jogged up the sidewalk to join Falcon and his assault team as they piled out of the second vehicle.

 

The men stacked up and cautiously climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment. The hall was dimly lit, the only light source being an amber bulb suspended from a cord above the landing that blinked intermittently.

 

Shockwave racked his Mossberg shotgun and pointed it down at the doorknob. He checked with Spirit who had his M4 trained on the door.

 

Spirit nodded.

 

Shockwave fired a round from the 12 gauge, instantly destroying the lock, then turned and mule kicked the door open.

 

Spirit rushed in, followed by the others who all barked out their identification in unison.  
  
“U.S. Special Forces!”

 

The apartment was empty, save for a lone figure sitting with its back to them in an office chair.

 

“U.S. Special Forces!” called Falcon. “Get your hands in the air!”

 

The figure was motionless.

 

Spirit shouted the order in Arabic, to no avail.

 

Falcon and Spirit exchanged apprehensive glances.

 

Crazylegs stepped forward between them.

 

“Let's go! Hands up!”, he shouted as he kicked the back of the chair. The chair swiveled around to reveal the man that Falcon recognized as the local villager who had provided them with the target location.

 

His throat had been slit and he wore a bulky vest, clearly packed with explosives.

 

“RUN!” Spirit shouted.

 

The four men raced for the door. Their comrades in the street were startled by an explosion on the top floor of the building that blew out the windows and showered them with debris.

 

Gunfire rang out from both sides of the street.

 

“Contact left! Two o'clock!” Gung-Ho shouted, returning fire in the direction of the muzzle flash.

 

“Contact right!” called Leatherneck, firing bursts from his M16.

 

Dusty and Flint also came under fire from their end of the street and unleashed volleys at the unknown enemy.

 

“Bravo 2-1 to Clubhouse!” Flint shouted into his mic. “We are taking heavy fire from all directions! Request QRF now! Over!”

 

“ _Clubhouse, copy,_ ” the radio replied. “ _QRF is en route. Over._ ”

 

It would still be several minutes before the Quick Reaction Force comprised of a small greenshirt platoon would arrive.

 

Flint looked back up at the smoking building, flames licking out of the far window.

 

“Bravo 2-1 to Bravo 2-2, I need a sitrep. Over.”

 

Spirit and Falcon crouched on the stairs, attempting to gain their bearings.

 

Crazylegs lay motionless, face down on top of the landing. His blood spilling down the stairs.

 

Shockwave slumped against the railing, bleeding profusely himself from a piece of shrapnel that jutted from his left arm. He knelt beside Crazylegs and searched for a pulse.

 

“He's dead, Lieutenant,” he said, before falling back against the railing. “He's gone.”

 

“Bravo 2-1, this is Bravo 2-2,” Falcon replied. “We've got one KIA, one walking wounded.”

 

Spirit ducked low and raced down the stairs. He took cover behind the second HumVee, laying down fire over the hood at the muzzle flashes he saw coming from the roof across the street.

 

A body tumbled off of the roof and landed on the pavement with a dull thud.

 

Headlights flashed at the western end of the street and a Cobra all terrain vehicle known as a _Stinger_ , the terrorist organization's answer to the HumVee, raced towards them. Rapid fire bursts sounded and the Joes could hear the rounds ricochet off of their vehicles' armor.

 

Rock 'N Roll opened fire with the first HumVee's machine gun. The speeding Stinger swerved and crashed into a parked car.

 

More gunfire rained down from above. Gung-Ho crouched down beside the driver's door of their vehicle while Leatherneck was forced to make a run across the street and take cover in a doorway.

 

Rock 'N Roll swung around in the turret and strafed the windows on the top floor of the same building, silencing the hidden snipers.

 

Two more Stingers approached from the east. Flint pulled the pin from a grenade and lobbed it down the street. The explosion caused the first Stinger to flip over. The second one screeched to a halt and three Vipers, members of Cobra's elite infantry, hopped off of it, running behind the overturned vehicle for cover. A fourth opened fire from the truck's machine gun.

 

Dusty ejected the empty clip from his M16.

 

“We need air support, Flint! QRF's not gonna get here in time!”

 

Falcon dropped to a knee at the bottom of the stairs and used the wall for cover as he fired down the west end of the street at the two remaining Cobra troopers who had left their Stinger and taken cover behind a parked car.

 

“Bravo 2-1 to Clubhouse,” Flint growled into his mic. “I need air support now! Over!”

 

He emptied his carbine, then let the rifle hang from its strap as he drew his sidearm and squeezed off several more rounds, dropping a charging Viper.

 

“ _Dragonfly-1, to Bravo 2-1,”_ replied Wild Bill's Texas twang. _“I copy your request for air support and am inbound now! Over.”_

 

A motorcycle skidded around the corner. The rider ditched the bike beside the second HumVee and drew two pistols.

 

“You really thought you could bring me in with a handful of men?” the hooded figure sneered. “You people disappoint me.”

 

Zartan fired at Leatherneck who had to dive through an open door for cover. Simultaneously, he fired two shots from his second pistol at Flint, one of which struck his chest plate, causing him to slump back through the open passenger door of their vehicle.

 

Dusty leveled his rifle over the hood of the HumVee at Zartan when several shots hit the back plate of his armor, knocking the wind out of him. He dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

 

More Stingers approached from the east.

 

Zartan sauntered towards the burning apartment building, kicking aside spent shell casings as ash and embers danced on the air around him.

 

As the assassin rounded the rear of the second Hummer, Lt. Falcon came into view, his back turned to him, busy discarding his M4's empty magazine.

 

Hidden beside the Hummer in Zartan's blind spot, Spirit dropped to a knee. He drew his sidearm, and in one smooth movement, fired.

 

The bullet struck Zartan's left shoulder. He recoiled and dropped the pistol as he stumbled backwards.

 

“Oh you're gonna pay for that,” he hissed.

 

Spirit stood and took dead aim at Zartan's head with his P226. Leatherneck reappeared in the doorway across the street, his M16 also pointed at him.

 

“Drop the gun!” Spirit shouted. “I will not tell you again!”

 

Zartan chuckled as he dropped the second gun and slowly raised his hands. He locked eyes with Spirit.

 

“I remember _you_ , Geronimo. You're the one who almost caught me in Juarez. Pity you made me kill all of those civilians.”

 

“Those deaths are on _your_ head and no one else's,” Spirit said, taking a step forward. “and I assure you, you will pay for them.”

 

“You think so? See those headlights behind me? More a my boys riding to the rescue. You fellas are short on ammo, and in about thirty seconds, you'll be outnumbered. Lower your weapons now and I promise to kill you quickly.”

 

Two streaks of white hot light screamed past overhead. The approaching Stingers were destroyed in two brilliant explosions that lit up the entire neighborhood.

 

Zartan used the distraction. With a flick of his right wrist, he dislodged a small black marble from his sleeve and threw it at the ground where it exploded with a flash and an instantaneous cloud of black smoke. He was gone before the smoke had dissipated.

 

A Dragonfly attack helicopter roared over the rooftops. It banked into a steep left turn over the neighborhood.

 

“ _Bravo 2-1, from Dragonfly-1, you've got two more enemy vehicles in bound from the west,_ ” Wild Bill called, his co-pilot Airborne in the cockpit behind him. “ _We'll dispose of those varmints for ya_.”

 

The copter swooped low and strafed the ground before the speeding Stingers with its Gatling gun. Wild Bill unleashed two Hellfire missiles which easily found their targets and obliterated the vehicles.

 

Flint took a deep breath and felt a pain in his right side. Damn. The impact of the bullet must've cracked a rib.

 

“Everybody okay?” he called, steadying himself against the HumVee. “Report.”

 

Each of the Joes replied that they were uninjured as the QRF arrived in several armored vehicles.

 

Shockwave appeared at the bottom of the stairs, barely able to stand, doing his best to keep pressure applied to the wound on his left arm.

 

“Medic!” called Falcon. “I need a medic over here!”

 

The Joes converged in the middle of the street. The entire neighborhood had now taken on an orange glow as flames danced from the burning enemy vehicles. The acrid scents of smoke and discharged ammunition hung thick in the air.

 

“Damn it. We had him,” Spirit sighed dejectedly as he holstered his pistol.“We

had him.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Costa Buena.

 

Cobra Commander marched through the halls of the presidential palace, trailed by members of the Crimson Guard, one of Cobra's elite units.

 

Tomax and Xamot, identical twin brothers and leaders of the Crimson Guard, fell in alongside him.

 

“What does Bludd have to report?” asked the Commander.

 

“The American soldier still refuses to talk,” replied Xamot.

 

“However, the Major assures us that it's only a matter of time before he breaks him,” added Tomax.

 

“That imbecile. If he hadn't _'accidentally'_ killed Dr. Moffet shortly after he delivered Airwolf, I wouldn't have a squad of techno-vipers wasting time deciphering how to operate the damned thing.”

 

“To be fair Commander,” Xamot interjected. “You _had_ planned to kill the good doctor yourself.”

 

“Well, of course I had, but not until he had given us some sort of owner's manual or something. What's the latest on Zartan's venture into Benzheen?”

 

“Zartan narrowly eluded capture by a covert U.S. operations team,” reported Tomax. “However, twenty-one vipers were killed and one was captured. It also appears in part, due to the efforts of this elite special forces unit, that Benzheen at this time, is no longer a viable recruiting ground. The natives would rather trust a local warlord over Cobra.”

 

The commander's eyes grew wide under his mask.

 

“They killed twenty-one of _my_ vipers?! Who was it? SEAL's? Delta Force?”

 

“Our intelligence has heard rumors of a new unit called G.I. JOE,” Xamot answered as they rounded a corner. “Officially, they do not exist.”

 

“Great! That's all I need!” Cobra Commander hissed.

 

As the Cobra leader and his entourage entered the President's office, a combination of Cobra troopers and Iron Grenadiers snapped to attention on either side of the doorway and shouted their allegiance.

 

“HAIL COBRA!”

 

“Hail Cobra,” the Commander dismissed the troops with a wave as he marched past them.

 

Ramon Alvarez, the President of Costa Buena, slowly stood behind his desk.

 

“Cobra Commander.”

 

“El Presidente`. The Baroness tells me that you seem...unhappy with our little business arrangement.”

 

Alvarez exhaled.

 

“No, Commander. It was merely a...momentary spell of...melancholy. I assure you, I am quite pleased with our agreement.”

 

“Excellent. We make you rich, give you large sabers to rattle at your enemies, and in exchange, you give Cobra a safe harbor and more importantly, legitimacy.”

 

“Yes, Commander,” Alvarez bowed, slightly. “I am indeed grateful for all that Cobra has done.”  
  
Cobra Commander stepped forward.

 

“One more thing, El Presidente`.”

 

“Yes?”

 

The Commander drew a pistol from his coat and pressed the muzzle against the President's temple.

 

“If you become the least bit unhelpful, if you do anything to cause one scintilla of difficulty for the glorious mission of Cobra, I will not hesitate to have you replaced. Revolutions are as common as tropical storms down here. No one will suspect anything. I can have you replaced by one of your nephews or another puppet with the snap of my fingers or... _the pull of a trigger_. Am I clear, _El Presidente_ `?”

 

Alvarez stared straight ahead, trembling.

 

“Si...si. Yes, Cobra Commander.”

 

The Commander lowered his pistol.

 

“Good. Now, shoo. You're in my chair.”

 

The President scrambled around the desk and briskly left the room. Cobra Commander dropped into the large leather chair behind the desk and spun around with his hands in the air.

 

“It's good to be the king!”

 

_ **To Be Continued...** _

 

 


End file.
